


In the darkness You're all I see

by craple



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Red Hood and the Outlaws
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Slash, because it's JASON, but they don't mind kissing Jason, except roy and kory are exclusive, for the uses of plot device only, it's more like an open relationship between the outlaws, ménage à trois, sorts of, why this is so long though ohmfg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait,” Jason says, grinning wide. “You think Drake was checking me out?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the darkness You're all I see

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't supposed to be 7k+ long. i ended up rambling about mondays and how terrible it is, and using maroon 5's _'sunday morning'_ lyrics, which is just _ironic_. I NEED MORE JAYTIM AND ROY/JASON/KORY JUST. I NEED THIS OKAY don't judge.

Monday morning greets him with a medium size steaming coffee, a plateful of buttered toast, and a note from Kory sitting on top of his nightstand. Jason never likes his alarm clock before, or the dim-lighted antique lamp that was supposed to be placed on the said nightstand, but the first thing that comes to his mind is the well being of his alarm clock. Also the cheap antique lamp he got from Ralph’s after he rescued the old man from gunpoint.

Kory has this tendency to break all the nice things she sees, after all. Plus the obvious violent streak she possesses, Jason is not _slightly_ worried about her breaking his stuff, he is _positive_ she _will_ break his stuff when she’s in the mood for it. He has witnessed the sorts of damage she can create the moment Roy whined at him of his latest conquest with a sweet girl who unfortunately broke her arm in a tragic car accident that just _happened_ to be _outside_ of Gotham’s territory two years ago.

It was tragic, and wrong in every sense of word. But life is not a textbook, and Jason would love to keep his balls intact, thank you very much. So he patted Roy on the shoulder, going for the casual, told him the _‘many fish in the sea’_ speech and hoped his face wasn’t so – well. Twitching. Worried. Roy is. He’s good at reading people. And he’s clever, just the way Jason likes it, so he’d know if Jason’s not careful.

Jason decides he’s buying a new lamp on his way back from work today. He already has a dozen of spare clocks hidden in the flat somewhere, probably under Roy’s bed – they do say hiding in plain sights is better than most – so he focuses on replacing the door instead. Locked from the inside only, which means the only way to get in when he’s asleep is by breaking it off its hinges or through the windows.

Well, no matter. It’s not like he can’t get a new flat, though he’ll have to do a very thorough research on getting one that meets his requirements: cheap enough not to be a burden on his pay check, spacious enough to help him hide his stuff. One of the safe houses in the territory is a good start, he supposes, but. That’s a thing for people who fake their deaths do, or terrorists. Jason is dead enough already; he doesn’t need a reminder of it.

Sitting up slowly, Jason grabs for the toast blindly, bites the rough burnt-edge in distaste, and chews the sourness of the definitely expired butter away. The bread is too rough, besides. It’s one of Kory’s ways of telling him to restock the fridge immediately.

He can’t imagine what Roy is going through in the kitchen, with his usual breakfast – turkey sandwich, the bread always buttered and cooked properly, the cheese either grated or melted, one tomato plus at least three lettuces, cheap vegetables piling on top, with ketchup on good days and chilli sauce on bad ones – realising too late that the food he consumes has, quite possibly, been poisoned or, worse.

Roy Harper is, despite the devil-may-care attitude, very picky about his breakfast. Jason tries to convince himself that Roy reads Kory as well as he reads other people, because if not, he’d probably have to make it look like an accident, send it to the lowest-maintenance morgue in Gotham, just in case Green Arrow decides it’s high time to stick arrow up someone’s ass, preferably Jason’s. That won’t be good for business.

Picking the cup off the nightstand, Jason takes a whiff off the steam, deems it good to consume, then really hopes it’s not poisoned as he pours the content down his throat in one go. And, it tastes bile, too thick by half, more disgusting than ever for the lack of heat, exactly the way he hates it. Jason shakes his head, feels the terrible headache already setting in. Tries to read the note before his eyes get all blurry. Jason groans aloud at the general lack of fortune that is his life.

  _“Family bonding this evening, Jay, I’m thinking lunch at Central City and dinner at Helena’s yacht. The Flash owes me one, and Helena’s family’s rich. She can deal. Also, I’m taking you both shopping after lunch, I hope you won’t mind. Good luck on not getting flirted with during work while you’re at it._

_“I know you love me – Kory.”_

At the end of the paper, there is a lips-shaped mark in lieu of signature. Below, Kory’s beautiful neat handwriting continues with a smiley face, and what he supposes is a very flirty version of _‘wear something pretty!’_ line. He wouldn’t know. Some of the lipstick has smeared most of the writings, thank god.

Taking another bite out of the buttered toast once more, Jason flinches at the taste, swallows it down, then proceeds to slosh his mouth at least fifteen times before turning the shower on.

\--

Living in a crime-ridden city like Gotham is harder when you’re not Bruce Wayne’s son. Or Bruce Wayne’s butler, most certainly, but Jason knows that long before Bruce took him as Robin. Having a drug addict for a mother does that to you, and Jason _has_ survived long enough by stealing food and drink and selling parts he took from fancy vehicles.

But, after everything, Jason knows he can’t do that anymore. It’s not his conscience talking or feeling guilty; he had been stealing for _years_ and never felt guilty even once about it, so why start now? It’s just that – stealing won’t _help_ anyone, especially those in his territory. Crime Alley is getting worse after he died. More and more people are getting desperate for money and the poorer the people get – it doesn’t matter if Bruce resurrects from the dead and starts kicking asses again – it still won’t make any _difference_. Only make it far worse than it already is.

If Blackgate Penitentiary is suddenly flooded with weaklings, then it will be easier for the Joker to manipulate. Get back into the game, escape once more, probably with an army or two. It’s for the best of the city’s interest not to have the psycho crawling along the streets, Jason’s included.

So, despite Roy’s incessant whining and Kory’s wounded-Bambi look, Jason crosses ‘Theft’ out of the list. Unless the situation calls for it and in this instance is gathering information, then _that_ they can do. For now, they will have to deal with what they have. And that is by working themselves off from one job to another, as long as they are within the Red Hood territory.

Presently Jason is working at three places: as a cashier at the old gas station’s supermarket by the docks – which is more than helpful for their night-time activities, because, _information_ ; drug dealings through shipment craft and all that shit – a bartender at a bar frequented by members of large mobs in the city, and, believe it or not, a _singer_ at a small café a few blocks down the road of their flat.

To be honest, he didn’t _expect_ to be hired at all. Mitchell’s Café was run-down enough as it is, and Jason could understand if they refuse him. They _barely_ pay their staff as it was. But the owner, Joan Gellar, had said that he was ‘the perfect man for the position’ before shoving the mike to his face. Ordered him to sing something nice, something hyper but not too flashy. Rock song would be fitting, since Jason has that look, she said, bad boy residence with the smoky-hot baritone.

At first, Jason hesitated. Then of course she would say something along the line of, _‘I would pay you twice the other jobs you’re having if the café returns to its former glory’_. Plus the very encouraging ( _frightening as fuck_ ) words from Kory finally made him to grudgingly accept the position, under terms that both of his flat mates are joining him too. Joan had agreed to it eagerly.

Now, the café is alive more than ever. Even though most of the customers are teenagers or college students, they actually make some cash off everything, which makes their payment absolutely satisfying. Enough to cover all their daily expenses including rent, which is why Jason sticks around. Forces Kory to learn the keyboard. And seeing that Roy is, surprisingly, a pretty good guitarist, lets Roy teach him to play the bass and sing at the same time.

They make a _killing_ out of the café. Kory spends her money on food and clothes, and some of the European literature books, while Roy spends his on DVDs for their brand new DVD player and heavy equipments to create or recreate, also polishing arrows. Jason, not so surprisingly, spends his on buying the ingredients to make his own bullets, his own weapons. The rest they spend on food – which _is_ the highest top priority, mind you – though now.

He – _they_ – need to buy a new flat, preferably a penthouse with the entire floor all to themselves. Jason’s savings, includes Kory’s and Roy’s, plus their legal money and also the very _illegal_ ones are enough to get them two of it at least, but it’s better not to attract too much attention on themselves.

With this thought in mind, Jason sets off to work on his bike. As the engine purrs to life, he reminds himself to buy some aspirin and pills to prevent diarrhoea (“I think she repainted the meat to make it look fresh. _Repainted_ it, Jason, I wasn’t _kidding_ or _flattering_ her when I said she is going to be the death of me. Though at this point, _us_ might be in order.”)

Checking his watch, Jason is pleased to see that it’s nine sharp; _right_ on time as he always is. He parks the bike on the back, makes sure it’s perfectly camouflaged – oh, the joy of cliché shiny black bike – then unlocks the door of the supermarket to start the day.

After checking in, he takes one of the frozen tuna sandwich and a can of cold mocha from the freezer. It’s rather cheap, and Jason prefers not to lie to his boss because of how poor the man himself actually is, so he puts a total of nine bucks into the cashier, turns the TV on, and makes sure all the CCTVs are in order.

During these four hours, all he does is reading the latest newspaper while finishing off his sandwich. Multitasking is one of his fortes after all. He catalogues then crimes written on papers. He’s already memorised everything the news reporters got to say for the last four hours, he doesn’t notice it’s nearly the end of his shift until the clock strikes one.

In a few minutes, the perky college-student brunette who is obviously having a crush on him is going to come in. Jason restocks the shelves, recounts the cash, and writes everything down on the notebook the owner kept below the cashier machine.

As he is bending down to gather a few of his belongings, which basically, are some stuffs he uses to keep tabs on the progress of the drug-dealings nearby, the bell chimes in, signalling the presence of another. Someone chokes on air, doubles over the counter. Hitting his or her own chest with his or her fist to stop choking. Jason cranes his neck to look.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jason says. The perky brunette whose shift starts in three minutes nods jerkily, cheeks flushed, the colour trails down to her collarbone in a strangely endearing manner. “Hold on a second, I’ve just got to take some of my stuff down here.” Recovering the small Walther underneath the cabinet is much harder than the recorder itself, but Jason is successful through a little bit of moving around.

Perky Brunette, whoever her real name is, Jason can’t be bothered to remember, as he _did_ some intense background check on her to find she is absolutely normal without _any_ connection to the mafia or drug dealer whatsoever, is shifting her weight in front of the counter. Fingers tapping nervously against the mahogany surface, the content of her Starbucks to-go-cup sloshing loudly compared to the slow tune of Lord of the Rings’ soundtrack playing softly in the background.

Straightening languidly, Jason shoves everything into the leather satchel slung over his shoulder casually, looks at the young girl with a raised brow and a smirk. He hopes it’s not as mocking as he imagines it is in his mind. The girl flushes a tad shade deeper. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she replies crossly. At the look Jason gives, the girl shuffles the tip of her boot – pointy, this round, five-inches heels that make her look awkward when she walks – pointedly does _not_ look at Jason’s way. Jason shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m just saying. If you’re not feeling well, I can always take your shift. The extra cash is very welcome, considering.”

Brunette doesn’t reply, just. Stares at Jason with this dazed-look on her face, looking like she is about to fall apart any minute now, from the awesomeness that is Jason’s presence alone literally two meters away from her own. It is kind of amusing to watch. Yet also very, very creepy to be a part of, the subject of this girl’s attention and that is saying _a lot_ , since. Well, he _knows_ the Joker, okay. The Joker fucking _killed_ him, so when he says it’s a lot, it’s. Really, really _a lot_.

Jason clears his throat, feeling as awkward as the first time he had sex with fraternal twins of a male and a female, basically losing his virginity to both sides at once, which is very much satisfying and honest to god _fantastic_ , by the way, even _Dickie_ is going to be jealous over, he is sure. Cocks his head to the side, puts his gloves back on. The girl even watches the motion with rapt _interest_. Jason is mortified to the bones.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jason tells her curtly, then dashes out of the back door, all the while tapping the pockets of his jeans for his keys.

He receives two emails, each from Roy and Kory, respectively. Knowing that Kory’s news might be more inclined to fifty-five-percent bad news than good news – which Jason assumes to be the bonding-plan still on-going, and that no, he may not scram around the world and hide behind an African rhino’s buttocks, which is fairly disgusting even for Jason’s level of tolerance, _please_ – Jason scrolls the screen down to click at Roy’s first, smiling as he reads it.

[ _shite, jason, shes throwing clothes at me, EXPENSIVE clothes jay and SHES THE ONE who told us to go RESTOCK JAY I MEAN WHAT._ ]

Uncovering the bike carefully under the thick black linens, Jason stuffs the cloth into a plastic bag he wraps around the bike’s handle. He puts everything in place as he manages a short reply back to Harper before turning on the engine, because as much fun as it is to have Roy around, he also bitches quite a lot – sometimes worse than Kory herself, even. Jason’s life is practically built around snarky people made of 85% sarcasm and 15% psychopathic, it’s not even funny.

[ _I told you not to hide everything. She’s Kory, she always notices._ ] And because Jason is a fucking champion, he adds, [ _Also, shouldn’t you be at work, getting harassed by underage girls?_ ]

Roy replies precisely fifteen seconds later, three caps-locked words big and clear on Jason’s screen: [ _FUCK YOU TODD_ ]

Jason starts the engine.

\--

Crime Alley isn’t usually so crowded, or even populated by living beings with two legs and cigarette and working brains aiming to get small cash to live by when it’s daylight. Somehow it becomes a rule in the society of underground scumbags that every illegal transaction should be done in the middle of the night, or sometime between nine pm and four fucking o’clock in the morning, which has it perks but more downsides for Jason’s practically torn worn-out-afterlife body.

Three hours sleep a day is not _enough_ or even _good_ to his body, okay, even _coffee_ can’t help him to get through the day like that. Sleep deprivation is the last thing he needs in his life right now.

Which is why, Jason nearly spins the bike around, crashing himself against a truck of living turkeys in the process, what the actual _fuck_ , when he sees Remington – head mafia of the Bratza Family, slipping through every traps the Bats created for him, paying the prison _plus_ the court of justice itself to get out behind bars – surrounded by three large men in obnoxious expensive black suits, trading a black suitcase full of tracked money from the recent bank robbery uptown with a guy that looks suspiciously like a lawyer straight out of the Suits show Kory made him watch.

Pursing his lips, Jason parks his bike at the opposite corner of the street, keeps the purr of his beloved to a minimum (there is a reason for the lack of one-night-stands in his life, _not_ a woman or a man, but _his beloved_ , despite whatever Roy says). The fancy gadget he stole from the Irish tech industries three months ago is strapped to the side of his bike; a recorder of sorts, except it can focus on certain object from afar instead of close-range only, complete with voice detector of every single person’s alive on this earth.

Roy was the one who took the gadget in the first place, because it’s black and shiny and smooth and everything Roy wants. He’s a raven like that, only interested in shiny objects that interests him. But then he decided to ‘give’ it to Jason, for safekeeping. It is strapped to his bike a few days later, without his knowledge, mostly because Roy’s gotten bored of it like he has everything else, despite the many threats of throat-ripping if any of them so much as to touch his bike or force him to bring it to a fight. He doesn’t want his baby to get hurt, after all.

Now the urge to strangle Roy for the reminder of the scratch due to the strap’s metallic zipper lowers down to fifty-six-percent. Unless it refuses to cooperate, well. This is Jason’s life, he won’t be surprised if the gadget turns shit later on, and he’ll probably have to murder Remington and his people in front of twenty thousand people, in a small disgusting isolated alley with no finesse whatsoever. Kory will definitely scold him. She prefers Jason and punctuality in the same sentence.

For now though, Jason watches. He watches as the lawyer-lookalike takes the case in hand. He watches the lawyer disappear down 76th, watches Remington and his men going deeper into Crime Alley, before he gets off his bike near the bakery Roy works at. Palms the hilt of the dagger in his right boots and hopes he didn’t forget to reload the Walther PPK this morning.

\--

By the time he’s finished gathering information, books every single word Remington had to say before the inevitable crash of his thick skull against the rock bottom that is a very large, very metal dumpster full of shit, which he’d know, because he’s _checked_ ; Jason is late by two minutes.

He doesn’t bother hiding the bodies from plain sight. Just dumps all four bodies into the dumpster, ignoring the angry screeches of nearby cats, snatches his ringing phone from the back pocket of his jeans and picks up in time to hear Roy asking if he’s in Dubai yet.

Not that it’s a bad runaway destination or the like, but if Jason truly wants to hide, he’d choose Indonesia, honestly. The lack of CCTV, primitive environment, foreign languages, and the many, many places he can travel to without taking out his passport more than once. He can understand the appeal.

After checking that yes, his clothes are blood-stain-free, Jason confirms his situation to Roy (“No, Roy, I’m still in Gotham. Yes, Dubai is nice, but no, we are not going there, for fuck’s sake, _remove your hand from the travel agent’s phone number or I will hunt you down_ ”), takes a cig out of the pack and smokes like he’ll never get enough.

It’s understandable that Kory is still trying to get them both into rehab. Roy is as worse as he is when it comes to addiction. Jason is more inclined toward smoking whilst Roy continues upsetting his liver with alcohol-intoxication.

Picking up his bike where he’s left off, Jason takes the shortest shortcut toward the café. Making sure that he’s broken all the traffic regulations along with it, because hey, he’s more afraid of Kory than he will ever be against the nice officers of the law. Not a big surprise; even _Dick_ is afraid of Kory. The women in Jason’s life.

Of course, he thanks the Lord for small favours; Mitchell’s Café is extremely crowded with a bunch of students, businessmen, all in the age between twenty five and sixteen, without any sign of Kory. Jason flings himself against Roy’s back, who’s leaning against the counter and talking about the proper way of creaming hot coffee with the barista. Choking on his surprise when his chest hit the sharp end of the table and slaps the back of Jason’s head with a stick, Roy enunciates, “Personal _space_ , Jason,” to which Jason backs off a little.

“Has Kory arrived yet?” he asks, when Roy finally stops sulking about his bruised chest. Roy shakes his head.

“No, thank god, no. I heard she got stuck in the traffic? Something about the Bratza Family found in the dumpster near 76th, passed out and bleeding.” The grin on Roy’s face is wide, real, and slightly feral, no matter what. Jason butts his forehead against the redhead, smirking mischievously in response.

Looking around, Jason whistles at the over-crowded space. It’s a bit unsettling how people _actually_ come to hear them, even though Jason is not all _that_ good at singing. Practically following Roy’s instruction in his head to make his voice lower, deeper, notch it up a bit with his usual rough-sexed-voice which he claims he _never_ has. Repeats the lyrics of any song he heard the other night, installed to his phone by either Roy or Kory, depends on their mood – tries not to fuck it all up by playing up on his looks.

Something Jason knows how to do, at least. He’s met _Thalia_ Al’Ghul, okay, it’s no surprise.

He turns to flash a smile at the barista. Louis, he reminds himself. “So, how is Joan doing, Louis? Is she slaving everybody in the kitchen – like she does _every_ Monday, by the way – wearing army cap and shit?” Jason cocks his head at the flustered look the young barista shoots him. “You’re Louis aren’t you? The new guy Kory’s been telling me about?” New Guy Louis nods shyly. Jason grins.

“I don’t have to tell you that both Kory and Roy are taken, because you already know,” says Jason sweetly. “Just so you know, I’m free and happen to be playing for both parties.”

Next to him, Roy promptly chokes on his mocha, murmurs something about ‘subtlety’ and ‘pent-up frustration’ and ‘get into trouble’, but doesn’t try to stop him. Jason flashes another charming grin at the flustered barista on the other end of the counter. “Pour some sugar into my Chai tea won’t you? And give me one of those sweet coconut tarts I love. Marie should know my order – she’ll teach you better than Joan herself.” Jason tells him then hops off the counter to get on to the stage, Roy following closely behind.

“You know, getting everyone hooked between your fingers, giving them false hope to get what you want, is decidedly creepier than Kory losing it in the middle of a battlefield.” Roy says.

“Being manipulative is not crossed off the list of ‘Things We Shouldn’t Do’. Might as well enjoy it.” Jason huffs. Roy rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face.

“Least I’m not the one who crossed _theft_ off the list,” Roy quips. Jason sorts of wants to strangle his neck with the cables Roy’s holding, or something.

He’s collecting a bunch of colourful cables behind the stage, untangles them swiftly with deft clever fingers, and connects each one into the sound system beneath the stage and the four medium-sized speakers placed on each corner. Since the stage has two levels – square-shaped as the bottom and circle on-top – it’s easy to hide the mess of cables from plain sight, making everything look more sophisticated than it really is.

While he is setting a second microphone in front of the stool he’s supposed to sit for his guitar (he prefers classic rather than the electric, obviously), the bell chimes obnoxiously loud above the chatters of people. The _‘click, click’_ sound of killer heels that can only belong to Kory’s “I Kick You And You’re Death” boots tapping loud and dangerous, and sounding like she is planning to murder someone if she doesn’t get what she wants in the next thirty seconds or facing a stupid flustered barista whom she finds adorable on good days and a corpse on bad ones, specifically _today_.

Feeling bold – or halfway insane, probably curious, maybe even _bad_ for Louis in general, unlikely as it is, Jason is just starting to _like_ the boy alright – Jason shoulders his way past the crowd waiting in line for their coffee. One of which he accidentally bumped against at the front, resulting a massive chain reaction from the coffee sloshing against the rim of the glass, staining down the length of his button-down shirt ( _dress code_ is a shit that applies to any crappy jobs in town), and finally, _finally_ , reaching the tip of Kory’s boots.

There is a sharp intake of breath from Marie the cashier, as Kory stops midway of her complaints at poor Louis, looks down at her boots. Looking up at Jason and gives him one of her _sweetest_ smile. Jason swallows. “Roy will buy you a new pair,” he hurries to say. At Roy’s betrayed suicidal face, Jason adds, “I mean, me _and_ Roy are going to buy you a new pair. Since obviously they’re leather. And obviously they’re _fucking expensive_ , I know. But it’s not _my_ fault the coffee sloshed, alright, blame the provocateur!”

“Plus we have a few songs to sing?” Roy pipes up, behind the mess of cables, which is. Shameful, even for him. Jason goes for the ‘Charming Reassuring Smile’ of a Wayne. Obviously, it doesn’t work.

Kory glares at him under her lashes, the smile still pasted on her face, turning her into a strangely enticing yet very much frightening gorgeous creature. “Good. Seems like the reservations are still in place for our ‘family bonding’ then. Make sure your wallet is full, loves, because both of you are _paying for everything_.” With one last smile, Kory shoves a plastic bag angrily to Jason’s chest, before strutting away into the kitchen.

Once she’s gone, Jason heaves a sigh of relief. Marie and Louis mimic him in a way more dramatic manner. “Do you think it’s going to be less than five thousand dollars? ‘Cause I don’t even _have_ five hundred dollars on me right now.” Roy groans pathetically somewhere behind the stage, he’s practically _swallowed_ by it. Jason huffs a small laugh, taking the offered napkin from Marie’s outstretched hand to wipe the coffee-stain away.

He looks back to find a mop of blonde hair, hazelnut eyes peering up at him apologetically. A teenage girl who is probably around sixteen or eighteen, suddenly blurting a bunch of nonsense consisting “Oh my god, I am so, so sorry this is _not_ supposed to happen” and “I can pay you? I mean, your shirt looks expensive and, and that lady’s boots _also_ look expensive but” and “I’m just here on a _date_ okay” also ends with “Please know that I am trying to live here by eating cold pizza and working as a librarian and selling candies to children which will _never_ get me anywhere near _five thousand dollars_ ”.

Jason feels a headache coming simply from how quick the girl is speaking. So he clamps his hands around the girl’s shoulders, watches her mouth shut with a satisfied click, and explains, as slowly as one can manage with hot coffee clinging on one’s skin, “Stop. I am not angry at you. I am aware that you can’t afford five thousand dollars. And you _do not_ have to pay us for everything. The coffee is _not_ your fault but mine. Okay?”

The girl blinks... and nods. “Okay,” she says, still nodding. “Okay, yes, I can. I can work – I can work with that? Thank you, I mean, thank you _so much_ sir, and I am so, so _sorry_.” When the girl starts to chatter again, Jason removes one hand from her shoulder, clamps it down against her mouth.

Beneath his palm, the girl’s lips part, questioningly perhaps – tongue flicking out to lick his skin – and Jason goes rigid. Slowly, Jason removes both of his hands from the girl’s general presence. And backs off as far as he can manage. The girl looks at him like a wounded animal. Jason shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, you are _not_ developing a crush on me. Please tell me you are not developing a crush on me. My Monday is worse as it already is.”

Now the girl looks amused. “Do you say that to all the girls who look at you weirdly?” and “Yes,” is the quick reply. The girl laughs loudly.

“Oh my god, no, I mean. You’re hot, okay, it’s understandable and not really surprising if a supermodel spots and you wants to sleep with you on spot but. I’m on a date now, so you don’t have to worry.” Her smirk is wide and blinding, and Jason wants to hug her for it.

“And the age difference. Please tell me you are also concerned about the age difference.” Jason says. The girl’s expression turns sly and considering. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that...” and Jason groans.

\--

Halfway through their surprisingly enjoyable chat, where Jason learns that the girl’s name is Thea, a college sophomore majoring in Psychology, who likes reading graphic novels and has been living in Gotham her entire life, Roy and Kory approach them, silent as the wind. Tap Jason’s shoulder twice; a signal that means possible threat has entered the territory.

Jason looks up and finds Drake’s blue eyes, dark and surprised, staring right back at him. He’s wearing casual clothes, _actual_ casual clothes; white polo shirt, bottomed with expensive-looking jeans. The side of his hair is ruffled, which is probably more accidental from the strong current of the wind outside instead of ridiculously styled by himself. It’s endearing, strangely.

Jason smiles. “Well hello there Replacement. How are you doing this fine day? Drake isn’t it?” he asks, batting his lashes for more dramatic effect, sees Roy smirking down at him in amusement.

“Like you don’t already know,” Kory scoffs, but she confirms his not-really-a-question with a nod. She bends down to press a kiss to his lips, straightens then flips her hair back in a clear dismissive gesture. “I’m setting up the equipments,” which are just fine, already set-up since half-an hour ago, not that Jason’s going to say. “Five minutes, guys. And Jason, change your clothes. There’s a spare in Roy’s bag, I’m sure he’d _love_ to lend you.”

Drake’s brow arched delicately at that. Kory politely offers him a smile – a sign that she’s still pissed off about the day in general – before sashaying away toward the stage. Roy wolf-whistles behind him, no doubt watching the way her hips move, subtle but there, a mixed of drunk-proud expression on his face.  He’s seen it often enough, usually after Kory’s beaten some upper-class criminals barehanded, to know it’s there.

Eyes still on Drake, Jason cocks his head to the side just as Roy slouches lazily against him, arms crossed across Jason’s chest and down his stomach, fingers curling around his biceps. Mops of Roy’s strawberry blonde hair get in the way of his vision, so Jason blows it away, licks the shell of Roy’s ear for good measures.

And Drake; he flushes, flushes so _prettily_ from the tip of his ears down the exposed skin of his collarbone, and Jason doesn’t – he _can’t_ hold the sudden strong wave of arousal that strikes him. Drake is an attractive guy, okay, and it’s not like Jason’s sexual urges _disappear_ after he died. It’s completely normal to be sort of attractive to your half-brother also the replacement you almost beat to death. It really is.

Roy’s chin is digging into the meat between his neck and shoulder now, lips skimming the skin of his jaw, sighing dreamily. “That’s my girl. She’s so amazing isn’t she, Jay? You know she is, you _know_ she is,” Roy croons whilst he nuzzles quite childishly into the crook of Jason’s neck like a very needy cat. Jason grunts noncommittally in response, tangling his fingers into the soft locks offered to him tantalizingly in display. Soft-looking and so, very _fluffy_ , there is no way anyone can resist _that_.

The Replacement shifts, his posture uncomfortable and nervous, his expression tight but oh so obviously _affected_ , whether in a good or a bad way, Jason can’t decide yet. He hopes it’s the former instead of the latter though. Jason has a very big ego, everyone knows that.

“Five minutes, Jay,” murmurs Roy playfully into his ear. And then they’re kissing, open-mouthed and sloppy, Roy’s tongue slipping past Jason’s lips and Jason’s teeth nipping at Roy’s swollen lower lip.

It’s, nice, in a way. Jason doesn’t flirt often, not as much as Roy does anyway, taken or not. The prospect of getting someone interested using other people without even trying, just being himself, is fascinating. He can hear Thea’s choked-off squealing, can even _feel_ Drake’s sharp intake of breath as if he’s two inches away instead of meters.

Jason is not ashamed to say he’s a bit out breath when Roy pulls away, because the man kisses the same way he polishes his arrows. Precise and completely focussed, far too intense and _loving_ , it’s dizzying. Everything tastes fantastic, and Jason wonders, if kissing Drake would feel just as fantastic, if not more, maybe.

He looks like the kind of person who knows what he wants. Jason is sure the sudden attraction he feels at the moment is more his lack of sex since his inevitable resurrection talking rather than pure _interest_ , but. Drake is also intriguing. A puzzle piece Jason would love nothing but to destroy and piece it all back together again.

After a moment – a moment that consists of three snapshots from Thea’s camera, Drake clearing his throat at least _twelve_ times – Roy bumps his forehead to Jason’s, grinning wickedly. “Three minutes,” he says, and flees. Jason doesn’t even bother to look at Thea, who is pretty and adorable and smart, instead keeping his eyes locked with Drake’s challengingly. Daring him to say or _do_ something.

Drake clenches his jaw – says nothing. Jason is not surprised. “So this is your date isn’t it Thea?”

Thea nods meekly, her eyes dark and dazed. “Uhm, yes, he is. This is, this is Tim Drake he’s my, _the_ classmate I was talking to you about. You know.”

“Of course,” Jason says, smiling sweetly. “Even I must admit that he, ah, fills your criteria quite nicely. You have a good taste on men, Thea, _also_ concerning dating places. You will _not_ regret this evening, I assure you.” Standing up, Jason leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek, purposefully brushing his fingers against the pale thin skin of Drake’s wrist in the process.

When Drake shivers, flinches back almost immediately, Jason smirks, wicked and knowing, at the both of them. “Just sit back, and enjoy the show.”

\--

 _Panic! At the Disco_ is one of Jason’s favourites. Actually, it’s _the_ number one favourite on Jason’s list, followed closely by _My Chemical Romance_ and _The Killers_. Since they already sang Blink182 yesterday, Linkin’ Parks the day before, and Kory’s forced to sing ‘Good Girl’ by Carrie Underwood the day _before_ that after a rather fortunate incident where Jason had to rest on bed for days, today they are singing ‘New Perspective’ from the Jenifer’s Body movie.

Until now, Jason still cannot understand the connection between the song and the movie. Roy said it had something to do with Jennifer changing her perspective on men-only to bisexual. Which yes, _does_ make sense, however little, but Jason loves the song, the quick-upbeat tempo, and the meaning behind the lyrics, without any connection to the movie whatsoever.

So if he sings slightly better than he ever does today – turns his voice deep but velvet-smooth, roughened with sleep and smoky and debauched, or how the top two buttons of his shirt are left open and his legs spread in a way that probably _is_ obscene – it has _everything_ to do with the fact that he loves the song, not at all because of Drake. Or his pretty clever date. Jason is _not_ that kind of guy who pines after taken people, although technically Drake is _not_ taken, yet the point stands.

Thea _did_ say today is their first date. First date doesn’t mean he’s already taken, considering all the possibilities where either partner might not like the other so much then break everything off. It can happen. Although even if it does happen, Jason doubts Drake will agree for a one night stand with the guy who almost murdered him _twice_. So, yeah, not much help there. Jason really needs to get laid or find something to do. Another big job out of Gotham would be nice. Roy would definitely appreciate the money, and Kory would love the change even for a while.

When they finally finish, and the crowd is demanding another song, Drake is alone right where Jason left him. Thea is nowhere in sight. He assumes the girl is in the restroom, but one look at Drake’s constipated expression and the lack of her backpack resting against the window where she sat tell him that she’s not.

Roy, following his line of sight behind his shoulder, cackles. Meanly. “Well, seems like your charm is working Jay. Congratulation on ruining Timmy’s date.” Roy says. Kory is nodding her head in agreement, her face half-proud and half-amused at Drake’s fate in general.

Jason frowns. “Did I sing that badly? I thought today’s an improvement.” And Kory laughs then, her voice sweet and rich, like melting chocolate sliding down his skin.

“Oh, Jay,” she huffs out between laughs. “You were fantastic, you always are. It’s just hard to maintain the date atmosphere when Drake is too busy ogling the perfection that is your body. Kind of funny to watch, actually, but I sympathise with the girl. She deserves a better date than that.”

“Wait,” Jason says, grinning wide. “You think Drake was checking me out?”

Kory rolls her eyes. “We _know_ Tim is checking you out. Knowing and thinking is not the same thing _at all_.” She crosses her arms over her chest, tilts her head to the side, and smirks. “I didn’t think you’d be interested though. In Drake.”

“Are you kidding me?” Roy chokes out. His face is red from laughing, hair tousled, and Jason wants to hug him. So he does. Tightly. “He was _obsessed_ with the guy the moment he came back to live, Kory, what is that if not love?”

“Psychopathic?” Jason chimes in, still grinning, and Kory shrugs. “Yes, okay, whatever. Go get his number or something, but make it quick. We have lunch reservation in Metropolis. And we’re not taking the bike.”

Jason nods obligingly. Gives her a quick kiss on the mouth as good luck, and she pats his cheek fondly as she passes. “Seems like your Monday is looking up,” Roy tells him cheerfully.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says, pinching the side of Roy’s bicep until the blonde cringes.

\--

Sliding into the opposite unoccupied booth swiftly, Jason takes notes. He notes that Drake is not being responsive, doesn’t even bat an eye when Jason takes the space where Thea used to be. Fingers splaying across the table surface while his free left hand toys with the straw of his iced caramel macchiato. His plate is an uneaten mess of a piece of apple pie, beside it a platter of savaged hot wings – one of the café’s specialities, despite not being a diner – and smudges of chilli sauces staining at least three out of four scattered tissues on the table top.

He notes the resigned slump of his shoulders, like Drake has been expecting it coming from long miles. The tired miserable set of his face, and the dark determined glint in his eyes. Jason sets the plates in front of him aside, takes a sniff out of the drink Thea bought, leans back against the soft-fluffy cushion as he stares at Drake, waiting. Outside the weather has taken its toll to cloudy, the large digital clock pasted to the building across showing eighteen minutes after two.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Jason hums. “I hope it wasn’t my singing that made the atmosphere bad.” Jason begins. “My voice isn’t usually so bad it drives people away.” He tries not to sound so smug about it, but from the slight uplift of Drake’s lips, amusement etches across his features, maybe being smug isn’t so bad after all.

Drake finally looks up at him and sags against the seat. He smiles, warily. “Your voice is part of the reason,” he says. “The other part is you in general. And the tight jeans you’re wearing.” Jason grins smugly at him, and Drake flushes, mumbles; “Shouldn’t have said that.”

“I take it that you’re the kind of person who knows what he wants then,” Jason says. Across the room Marie is watching them like a hawk, Louis peering curiously over her shoulder. Roy and Kory are nowhere to be found. Drake sighs.

“You. I’ve wanted you since I was _eleven_. Which is weird, admittedly. I still want you now.” Drake replies. His voice is weary and – resigned. Like there’s no stopping it, this confession where he has wanted Jason since he was eleven – and Jason can’t find it in himself to see it as a weird thing or a creepy thing. He just finds it adorable. “I followed you around, snapping pictures like a maniac. You saved me once. I’m not surprised if you don’t remember, but you did, and I’ve been cutting the newspaper every time you and Bruce show up on the front page.”

There are a lot of things Jason wants to say to that. Like the word _‘still want you now’_ Drake used. Or how Drake just blatantly admits he was stalking Jason – not just Robin, but Jason too – or the fact that he already knew Jason was Robin since he was at such a young age.

“So it’s not just the Robin-thing then,” is what he says instead. “I’m glad you like me not for my suit.”

Because this is Jason’s life now. _Of course_ something like this, where the attractive man he wants to sleep with, whom he had almost beaten to death, admits that he’s been crushing on Jason for years. _Of course_ he’d say it on a Monday, the day where Roy is being more relaxed than he needs to, and Kory is crankier than ever.

Jason wonders what this changes. What will happen on Tuesday if he says yes or no. If his life is going to be more bearable and happier, with Kory and Roy plus Drake around, if his bed is not going to feel as empty, even when Roy sneaks in at two pm every Friday and he’ll wake up to Kory nuzzling his chest.

He guesses it’s not going to hurt, if he tries. If he says yes.

“Well. Seeing that you’re not eating, and I’ve officially ruined your date with my charm,” Jason drawls roughly. “How about a lunch in Metropolis? I mean, obviously, my friends will be going with us, so it’s not going to be a date. Just to make it up to you.”

Jason hopes his voice is as confident as his shit-eating grin.

Drake laughs softly. “I would love that,” he says. “I would really, really love that.”

\--

On a Monday night, Jason ends up with Drake leaning against his shoulder. Roy’s head on his lap and Kory curling against his other side, arguing with a pissed-off Helena about the taste of the lobster she just ravished alone, and Drake laughing every time Roy makes a face at something either girl says.

That night, Jason doesn’t kiss him, or try to take him home. But the next Monday night, Drake kisses him, a determined pressure of his lips against Jason, telling Jason to stop calling him ‘Drake’, and it’s Tim now, and they’re going out and Jason is not allowed to kiss anyone even Roy or Kory except on their cheeks.

This time around, Monday morning greets him with Tim’s soft smile near his face, the words “Good morning” on his lips.

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> it's exams week, i'm drunk, it's _awesome_.


End file.
